Absolutely no angels in this death poem.
Half-baked poets offer angels for consolation
the way neighbours offer fruitcake at Christmas.
Absolutely no talk of Christmas in this death poem.
Resurrection went out with yesterday's trash and
holy stars and wise men appear on hockey jerseys.
Absolutely no wise men in this death poem.
Wise men have never made dying understandable.
They've drawn no pie charts or graphs for the soul.
Absolutely no mention of souls in this death poem.
THe soul is not a ship, or a bird, or a flag, or a flower.
We have no power of attorney over it, no death connection.
Absolutely no mention of death in this death poem.
Angels are listening and the wise men are sketching.
Look at where all these souls are headed and tell no one.
Copyright © 2006 by Priscila Uppal